Books People Send Me, Installment Eight

ByHeather B. ArmstrongFebruary 5, 2018

Oh my god, I have fallen behind on book installments and now I cannot see the floor of my office, wherever will I have illicit sex with the coworker who didn’t seem interesting at first until he told me he had seen Radiohead at a small pub in Oxford back in the Nineties, and then we realized we both hate coconut and suddenly we couldn’t stop hooking up in the stairwell on the north side of the parking garage and—oops!—sometimes on top of our boss’s desk late at night after everyone had gone home. True story. Sorry, Mom. But, sometimes people in their early twenties lead healthy, normal lives and drink coffee and buy beer and fall in love with coworkers who will end up shattering their hearts.

I was originally going to begin this post with an anecdote about the drive to school this morning but got sidetracked by He Who Broke Me In Half, and then realized it ties in nicely with these posts in general. Because climate change.

Stay with me.

I checked my weather app this morning right after I woke up—I keep checking it all the time now because I cannot believe what is going on in Utah, this has to be one of the mildest winters on record [wait, I did hear on the local public radio station this morning that the snow pack at Alta Ski Resort is the lowest it’s been since 1905 SHEEEEEEIIIT]—and it said the high today would be 56°. My mood instantly shot from “ugh why did I have to wake up and be alive” to “ISN’T IT GLORIOUS TO BE ALIVE!” And a fucking bluebird suddenly appeared on my shoulder and started whistling. True story. Just like the one above. Except the bluebird didn’t rob me of the idea that I would ever know love again.

Anyway.

I was telling this to Leta on the way to school this morning, and she shot back at me, “HOW CAN YOU BE HAPPY ABOUT THIS?” As if I were telling her that I was giddy about chronic constipation. I haven’t talked about poop on this website in a really long time, so I thought I’d gift you that one.

“Do you want it to be snowing?” I asked her, totally confused because I know she hates the snow and all of the things about and around and caused by snow as much as I do.

“No, but THIS IS GLOBAL WARMING. It’s not supposed to be doing this!” And she waved her hand around in the front seat toward the scene outside the car which was a glorious landscape free of dirty, shoveled snow covered in all the crap that gets stuck in banks of snow along the streets. People who do not live in cold climates have often romanticized snow to me not knowing that, sure, when it first falls it is certainly very pretty! But then. Then. Life happens to it. It falls in love with a coworker who breaks its heart and it shrivels up into the most unrecognizable heap of garbage. Three-day-old snow along the side of the road is horrifying. It’s disfigured. And if that three-day-old snow doesn’t melt for, say, three months? Welp. Have you ever experienced flesh-eating tar? No? Then do not ever romanticize snow to me ever again, Gerald.

“I don’t want it to be snowing, but I also don’t want sea levels to rise!” She was really passionate given the hour of the morning when usually she hasn’t realized she’s awake yet.

“I don’t either, but—”

“And this means my science teacher is going to be going ooooofffffff about it today, and she doesn’t realize that this makes my anxiety about it so much worse!”

“Listen,” I said. “First, let’s be happy that your science teacher believes in global warming. Win! Win for Utah! Second, I’m sorry you have anxiety about this. A lot of us do, and a lot of us are doing the best we can to do our part. We know—”

“It’s like, if you don’t like snow, why do we live in Utah?” She was having NO comforting. STOP WITH THE COMFORTING, MOTHER. COMFOT HER NOT.

I didn’t want to take a certain tone with her given she was already on edge, so I very calmly reminded her that I choose to remain in Utah FOR HER for us. I would very much like to move where flesh-eating tar isn’t a routine part of the winter, but she has repeatedly expressed that she does not want to leave Utah because of her friends and family, because this is her home. And given the destabilization that has taken place in her life since she was eight years old, I haven’t wanted to toss another bomb into the mix. So we stay. And this means that I get to be excited about 56° weather in February, in the name of Jesus Holy Hell to the God Christ, Amen.

What on earth does this have to do with book installments, you wonder as you tap your finger disapprovingly on your forehead, your eyes closed in disgust with me.

Stay with me, Gerald.

I take the featured photo for these installments outside on my back porch where the light is really, really good. And since I have so many books to feature, I broke them up into two different installments—I’ll post the other one in a couple of weeks—and took two different photos. On my back porch. Outside. And I was barefoot. And I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. In February. And I was singing. And in a really good mood about it all. Because climate change.

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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